


Rage Forth, the Machine

by suchlostcreatures (godfmischief)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Eventual Reylo, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Ghost Anakin Skywalker, Force Ghost Han Solo, Force Ghost Luke Skywalker, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Maybe - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 12:20:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17528603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godfmischief/pseuds/suchlostcreatures
Summary: As Kylo Ren struggles to maintain his position as Supreme Leader, the rest of the galaxy plot to take him down. Hux, the Resistance (what remains of it), the damned ghost of Luke... Even the psychometric link he has with Vader's helmet has been tainted by the voice of a repentant Annikin. The icing on the cake? That cursed force bond with the scavenger Rey. To put it bluntly, Kylo Ren is coming completely unravelled…





	Rage Forth, the Machine

_The Order of Ren._ Four words. Four words that play upon Kylo Ren’s tongue like an Oi-oi berry. Sweet and succulent. And, for the time being, infuriatingly out of his reach.

Curling a gloved hand into a tight fist, he presses it hard to his side; silently applauding himself for exercising such restraint when the urge to Force-choke the man who stands before him is near to overwhelming.

“Go on,” he demands, voice deceptively calm.

“Uh...” Lieutenant Mitaka quivers before his volatile leader; eyes darting nervously from the Supreme Leader's fist to the datapad he holds in his own clammy palm. He sucks in a deep breath before forcing himself to continue; uncomfortably aware that it could be his _last_ breath as his eyes scan the intel on the screen. “We lost contact with Squadron 13 shortly after their arrival upon Voss. Furthermore, we have received increasing reports of deflection amidst the 501st since --”

“FN-2187” Kylo states flatly. A red hot flush of anger rips through Kylo as the weight of the Lieutenant’s words sink in.

“Sir? Uh..” With a stammer, Mitaka seeks the correct formality. Sweat beads on his brow as the slate grey walls seem to press around him. “Supreme Leader?”

“The traitor has incited a rebellion amidst my Order.” Kylo says aloud, though his thoughts have already turned inwards as he adds with a hoarse mutter, “it’s all falling apart.”

Four words. Four words that suspend the very air. With a jolt of self-awareness, Kylo snaps his attention back to the figure in the crisp black uniform of the First Order. There is pure terror in the man’s eyes. And a terrible resignation. Too much was just now shared. And they both know it.

Rumours of weakness amidst the ranks is bad enough. Rumours of weakness in their Leader is unthinkable. There is only one way to undo his indiscretion.

Relaxing his balled fist, Kylo reaches out towards the Lieutenant; gloved fingers stretching out before slowly curling into a pincer grip.

“You’ve served the First Order well, Lieutenant Mitaka.” Apologies are not in Kylo Ren's nature. The feelings of others bear no interest to him. So as his next words hit the air, they surprise himself as much as they do the terrified officer before him. “I _am_ sorry.”

The datapad clatters to the floor. Followed moments later by the Lieutenant’s body.

“Have this mess cleaned up.” The words, half-strangled, escape Kylo's lips as a floodgate of emotion threatens to burst at the impasse of his own tightly constrained throat.

It’s fortunate the BB-9E droid that rolls forward is dispassionate; its sole focus to calculate the most effective method for following the orders it is given. Thus it’s sending its own wireless commands to a small battalion of maintenance droids on a lower floor, even as the volatile Supreme Leader turns on his heel and moves towards the sanctum of his personal quarters.

As the innermost door hisses shut behind him, Kylo Ren sinks to his knees before the charred and misshapen helmet of Darth Vader. Words clamour in his head like old echoes; struggling to find form.

_Show me again, Grandfather..._

The promises he has made over and over to Darth Vader's twisted visage reverberate within his own skull. Once uttered in fervour, they now clasp to him like leaden weights. Dragging him down.

_I will finish what you started…_

How? He pleads silently. Guiltily. Cursing his own weakness as his outstretched hands fall short of the relic. Darkness settles upon him like a cowl. It’s weight comfortably oppressing. But it’s still not enough.

 _It’s time to let the old things die._ _Snoke, Skywalker, the Sith, the Jedi, the Rebels; Let it all die._

Conflict keeps him on a razor’s edge. How could he have thought to keep such a vow? How could such an impulse have struck him? For what? To keep the scavenger girl at his side? He chokes back bitter laughter. The Sith legacy is his Grandfather’s legacy. To let it die would be to forsake his vow to Vader. Was its preservation not, in part, why he struck down Snoke and took his Master’s place?

“You’ve got it all wrong, kid.”

The words send Kylo stumbling to his feet; eyes casting about wildly as his right hand grasps the hilt of his lightsaber. Not from his own thoughts, these words. Not this time.

“Who’s there?” He demands. But he knows the answer. There’s no one. Certainly not Luke Skywalker, for all that his former Master’s aged timbre seems to reverberate off the very walls.  

“He returned to the light, in the end.”

Younger now in tone, yet there is no denying the voice this time. Luke Skywalker indeed. _Here._  A blasphemy inside this most sacred of sanctuaries. Cold rage whispers up Kylo Ren’s spine as he ignites his saber and holds it before him.

“I will destroy you!” he hisses, even as his heart knows it to be yet another vow he’ll struggle to keep. He felt the ripple in the Force when Skywalker’s soul took flight. The old Jedi had taken care of his own destruction the moment their duel upon Craite ceased. There’s nothing left of his uncle to destroy.

“Strike me down in anger and I’ll always be with you...” The voice taunts. An echo of Luke's final words.

Kylo whirls, taking care not to swing wild with his hungry blade lest he destroy the very centrepiece of his shrine.

“I'm going there to end this war! Things will be different, I promise!”

The outcry freezes him. Every nerve and tendon stretched taut and near to breaking point as he wills his heaving chest to still. This voice - this ghost from the past - is one he can’t place. Yet it’s desperation strikes a chord within him that’s familiar on such a disturbing level, he’s not sure whether to strike out in rage or collapse within himself in despair.

“Who are you?” He croaks. Eyes darting to that twisted helmet as if it might rise before him and regain its true form with the force of the life it once held.

“I’m not the Jedi I should be.” The reply is an echo with no true source. A soft breath whispered across the stars. A ghost of a memory that holds no relevance to the question nor was ever intended for his ears, he suspects. Yet it resonates within him like a piece of his own soul, returned.

Wild-eyed and breathing hard, Kylo steps towards the darkest shadows of the alcove. Heart thrumming even louder than the disjointed crackle of his saber. For a moment he closes his eyes, willing his mind to still. _Breathe deep. Breathe slow._

The Force gains traction within him, responding at last to his efforts to refocus. With a surety that’s more bluff than instinct,  he expects that when he opens his eyes, the form behind that voice will show itself. So that he will have something of substance to strike down.

Eyelids flick open with a last snap of resolve. The red glow of the saber illuminates the darkness as he sweeps it cautiously towards the shadows. There is no one. Nothing. The room is still. The echoes silent. There is no life force in the dim-lit room but for his own.

Disappointment and relief wage their own battle within him at the revelation - or lack thereof - before a deep aching loneliness rises to usurp them both. At his side, the red saber continues to scissor the air with its ragged buzz. It’s presence his only companion.

Beyond the alcove, the intercom crackles to life.

“Ren, we need to have a talk,” each clipped, curt word shreds through the speaker like a small dagger. A brief pause allows General Hux to gather momentum before the follow-up tears through the speaker like a bantha shriek, “about _why_ my _Lieutenant_ was just wheeled past me on a _gurney!_ ”

For a moment, Kylo contemplates spearing his saber through the intercom. Though for all that the action may provide a moment’s satisfaction, it will do nothing to injure Hux; the only other constant in his life, it would seem. However unwilling or unwanted.

Instead, he extinguishes the weapon and rests his head against the cool bulkhead. Hux’s tendency to undermine him has not dimmed since Snoke’s death. And yet, even as Supreme Leader, he can do nothing to remove the venomous kinrath from his side.

Anger courses through Kylo's blood even as exhaustion presses at his shoulders. His body feels too taunt. Like something is growing within him - something so vast and vile and dark, it can barely fit within the confines of his skin.

He’s coming apart at the seams. Unravelling. And the only one who could hold him together, closed the door on his face. There is no one left to stop the rage from juggernauting. And only the voices of his enemies left to drive him on.


End file.
